


Superhero Verse

by Marionette_Ame



Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2019-11-27 17:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18196982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marionette_Ame/pseuds/Marionette_Ame
Summary: An AU where there are no supernatural creatures but superheroes and villains instead. There will be many paths to follow. Of the dumb scientist who fails to be a villain but admires the Dark Lord above all else. Of the police officer who regularly goes on dates with one of the Dark Lord's main subordinates. That one supervillain whose friend becomes a hero simply to protect him. And all as romance!





	1. LiClair I

**Author's Note:**

> Lily is my OC and Sinclair is foggywizard's. There will be ships with canon characters but all rareships so hey. A wild ride.

Lily listened to the footsteps coming down the hallway, eyes closed, and sighed. Another hero? They were always the worst, preaching of good after beating up all his staff and blaming him for problems he didn't cause.

The giant white doors to his room opened, they weren't exactly silent but it's not like they creaked, and anyway, it was good to have them heavy. That way they took a while to open, so if he was asleep (which was often with how tiring this occupation of his was, added on to his already sickly body), he would wake up in that time.

Listening to the click of the hero's heels –how uncomfortable and unhealthy that must be to fight in– approaching him on the marble floor, Lily opened his eyes. Tilting his head to look at the hero, slowly because he felt fatigued and lethargic, he smiled softly. He didn't really want to because he didn't understand why she was dressed in such revealing clothing when she was a, hero, but it wasn't his place to ask such things.

“Do you want something?”

His voice resounded throughout the large room. It was clear despite how soft he spoke and it was probably because of Miss Anka who majored in something to do with noise. He's not sure who in particular designed this room to be so big and empty, aside from his nice couch in the middle of it where he's currently laying down, but it's not as bad as the news described it. Sure, his entire palace was white and grey and silver without any colour but he wished he'd stop getting criticised for it. It wasn't his idea.

Even his staff dressed without any colour. He used to think that maybe he just missed the memo and was supposed to dress like that too, but apparently he got excused from it. Wearing all black compared to everything else still felt weird though. Leather and a hat? Even weirder.

The hero glared at him, so hateful that he wanted to curl up, and said, “It would be nice if you stopped lounging around.”

“As you wish,” he said, and stood up. It seemed leisurely, but he already felt pain coursing through his body. Standing really wasn't something he should be doing, nor was it what he wanted. Yet it would be rude to ignore the hero.

Her hatred only intensified and he wanted to look away; he wanted to avoid her gaze. He couldn't though. Lily was an infamous villain, nobody knew it was him of course, and he knew heroes felt stronger if he displayed weakness. At least, that's what his staff said.

Then, she started talking. She continued on and on and on. It was horrible. Why did society always make fun of villains for long monologues if the heroes were the ones that actually did them? He hated to talk so how could he monologue in the first place?

As she talked, he saw one of his staff creep in through the open door, his gun aimed at her. He would be saved at last.

When he shot her, Lily covered his eyes quickly, but still jolted at the scene of blood that he hadn't been able to avoid seeing. His legs trembled, and he collapsed on his couch.

 _Why?_ He had witnessed this countless times yet it never stopped this terror of his. Never stopped how his eyes burnt and head went numb, or the way he shivered, alone.

He hated this.

Even as her body was taken away and the scene was cleaned up, he laid on the couch, eyes covered. One of his staff had come by and placed a cloth, white like everything else, over his face to calm him. It had worked somewhat, though it still hurt.

Later, when he left to meet his friend (Sinclair was normal and not involved in this convoluted sort of life in _any_ way) he found himself avoiding the spot that she had fallen at. He'd forget her soon enough but, he only wished it would happen _faster_.

  

* * *

 

 

“Lily? Are you okay?”

Lily flinched as Sinclair reached out to him. It wasn't on purpose, he had been reminded of that hero, but the shock still made him regretful.

“I'm fine,” he said, lying. “I'm sorry I just, I'm sorry I–”

Tears started to stifle the words in his throat. He couldn't apologise. He wanted to, oh he _desperately_ wanted to kneel and apologise to that woman who had died but how could he? He didn't know why she had needed to be killed, or why she had really even come to him in the first place. He never did.

He once thought it was because of the atrocities he committed. Of the massacre in Borneo that he had overseen, or his recent activity in Milan. It never was. They'd speak of things he didn't know. They’d speak of things he didn't understand. They'd _die_ for reasons he didn't hold any responsibility for.

Pitiful children who he wished he could help. _Oh, such pathetic fools that he embraced_. How he longed to repay their deaths. To get rid of his debts.

Fear filled him.

Sinclair removed his hands from Lily's wheelchair, and held him. He sobbed into his dear friend's shoulder, clutching his back like it would give him some sort of sweet relief from his guilt. As if it would prevent his descent to insanity from all the wrongdoing he carried out.

Perhaps it would. Lily calmed as Sinclair spoke to him with words of comfort. Maybe if he told him that he loved him, maybe if he had someone to anchor him, he wouldn't be driven mad. Because he did love him, because he did feel better whenever he was with him. Because he wanted to achieve his goal not for himself anymore, but so that he could live a peaceful life in his precious friend’s company.

It would be nice to see Sinclair's eyes too, instead of inflicting pain upon himself. They were beautiful. Moreso than anything else that he had ever seen, and he knew them well.


	2. Neskreia I

“Don't do that!”

“Her father may be important but she's absolutely useless.”

“Ugh she's so stuck up.”

“She thinks she's _so_ special.”

That's what everyone says about her.

...

...

...

At least that's what she thinks they say.

Ignes Kravei doesn't know what people say about her. They don't come close and so they're too far away for her to read their lips.

When they are close she's too nervous to look at them, and if she's not looking at them then how's she supposed to know what they're saying? She always ends up staring at their hands instead, but they don't use those.

Her father shakes his head whenever they're alone, and tells her, “You don't have to talk to anyone. Just continue you work in your labs. Your brother took my place when I retired so you don't need to be here.”

Ignes nods whenever he says that (because she agrees!) but still goes to every event and meeting. It's true, she doesn't want to talk to anyone and that she prefers being down in her labs. People respect her for her work after all! Though they don't like her, they appreciate what she does and that's good enough. Even her younger brother being the next Kravei lord is fine.

Once she had been jealous. Did everybody really think Luciene was better than her? Was she really so pathetic in their eyes? She knows now that all of her thoughts were wrong, that she's loved by her family, that her brother adores her to the point that he was more upset than she was at the suggestion, but at the time her younger sister was slated to be the Drosia lord. The idea that she wasn't worthy, yet both her younger siblings were, had pained her terribly.

Now when she comes to these events (without any of the expected social grace in a room so large or fancy) it's for supporting her siblings. Her presence is proof that the top scientist of their organisation supports the twin lords. Any opposition to them, any threat, is one to her as well. So if the thought of having two lords against them isn't enough, she should deter the idiots.

“Sis!” Luciene comes her way, his hair swaying by his waist and the pale gold hiding the crest on his dress. He's dressed up much more than she is in her hoodie, but he's dressed up more than everyone. That's just his style.

He passes the goblet he holds to her and she frowns.

“You know I don't drink.”

She's not looking at his face either, she knows what he says because she can see his hands as the liquid in the goblet steams. It's hot.

“Yeah! That's why I brought cocoa.”

Ignes blinks, takes a sip, and smiles. She should have known better. Luciene is sweet and listens to her, Margherita would have been the one to try and get her drunk.

“Thanks.”

He just stands next to her in her corner, watching people move as he does his best to hug her without actually doing that. There's a reason Luciene was the cute one between him and Margherita. It showed too, with his angelic looks, while her sister looked to be two seconds away from declaring she was a pirate and had plundered your wife at any given moment.

He's fine with people unlike her, but doesn't care for them much, so that's why he usually ends up tugging at the velveteen curtains covering the walls with her. They act like children but, it's better than going out to mingle or dance or talk. She's about to ask him if there's any cake when the room turns silent.

“Her majesty is here!” Luciene shouts that, like an excited puppy and she protests slightly as he drags her to the throne. People are staring and that's _awkward_.

Still it's not all bad. Luciene has a seat near the empress (of course he does, he's a lord) and makes her sit with him. There's enough space so that's not a worry; Margherita smirks at her and she does feel like she wants to disappear but, as she looks at the empress sitting on her throne, she can't help her blush.

Her gaze is cold and everyone fears her yet, she's just so. _Cool_.

The way she commands everyone. How nobody can say anything to her face (Ignes can't either but at least her reason is different) and the way she managed to get even the unruliest lords to swear to her their loyalty. It was amazing. To have someone like Zarga acknowledge you? You must be perfect! And the empress was perfect!

Ignes was scared of her too, actually, but it's harder to feel fear when your brother is cuddling with you while ignoring his image as a lord.

 

* * *

 

“Don't do that!”

“Her father may be important but she's absolutely useless.”

“Ugh she's so stuck up.”

“She thinks she's _so_ special.”

That's what everyone says about her.

...

...

...

Erga Kenesis di Raskreia is aware of what goes on behind closed doors. Even now when she's proved her superiority countless times, they doubt her. They think that she's not suited for the role of empress in this kingdom. That there should be no empress, and an emperor instead.

Fools.

They run under the assumption that the throne is passed down through blood. That she was the heir. How wrong they are, how pathetic. She wants to slice their thoughts till they turn to dust, till they realise that she's more than just a pretty face sitting on a very uncomfortable (and ugly, though everyone else calls it beautiful) chair.

For this position, she trained herself till her skin was gone and she bled as if death was her kin. Read till she thought herself blind, wrote even as her hands grew sore and ached, spoke with an even tone though her voice felt foreign and her throat grew hoarse. Though she tasted the metal that made her blood and kept her breathing. It was not given to her, her father did not arrange anything, she took it all on her own. Raskreia was proper like that.

Yet just simple training wasn't enough. So what if she could swing her sword thousands of times without tiring; what if she had more strength in her fingers than what most could muster in their bodies? She could speak more languages than some knew? Her knowledge on matters was extensive to the point that books were useless? Wonderful, yet pointless.

What use was all of that if she could not handle pressure. If when facing her foe she trembled, slowed. If she couldn't smile or frown or laugh with her head thrown back and tears just leaking from her eyes as she lied to the face of whom she spoke to. Even knowledge was useless when she couldn't apply it.

That’s why she learnt that too.

It wasn't hard. Not really. Raskreia's skin may be scarred from the heroes she faced, words unrecognisable from her infiltrations of countless organisations and governments, but she was worthy. Moreso than any before her, moreso than her father who saw her return and smiled, asking when she would challenge him to a duel (for he knew her better than she herself, and saw that she was perfect for the role). So she had. And she won with his hair in her hands.

His sobbing at that had been annoying. If he didn't want his hair cut off he should have told her beforehand instead of clutching to her stepfather and wailing that he had raised her too confident (Raizel had just stared at him confused and said, “Why didn't you tie your hair up then?” so he'd pouted. It was strange for a man bleeding to death to be so nonchalant but what else could be expected of the man who had caused famines and plagues throughout the world without batting an eye).

So, she looks over the throne room, and doesn't roll her eyes at how weak her subjects are. At least her lords are powerful, even if Urokai is bratty and requires as much attention as Karias does (for being in an evil organisation, her court acts almost as if they are righteous. they most certainly are not and at least they understand that). She pauses briefly, letting her eyes settle on Luciene and Ignes Kravei. One is a lord of hers, and the other?

She holds her smile and hides her smirk. Ignes Kravei is her prey the same way her stepfather, once an infamous superhero, was her father's prey. A good choice too. The woman is the lead scientist in Raskreia’s own world and admires her. Even her siblings, two lords who can make it hard for her to pursue the woman (though not impossible. never impossible for someone of her caliber) support the idea.

Raskreia loves capturing prey that doesn't struggle the most out of anything in her life. And she loves Ignes Kravei more.


	3. Seuri I

Standing up straight, arms crossed, the police officer studied every detail of the room through the glass. From the cute pink decorations that weren't supposed to be there and the against protocol heels of the pathologist inside, to the white hair of the body (strands draping over the edge of the steel table). The body of the once living, breathing, child truly was beautiful. Pale skin that seemed to glow whenever the lights were dimmed, flawless aside from the gaping wound where her heart had been.

Just looking at her disgusted him.

To think that even children were used by the dark lord. Horrendous. Though it was true Kalvin was a child who worked with them, he was never in harm's way. All he did was advise their scientists because he wasn't even let near the chemicals. If anything happened to him, the entire department of espionage, and the boy's mother, would be angered. That of course included him.

Autopsies like this usually had more supervision, and always more than a single person. Not only because that was much more practical, but also to make sure that even if some villain's influence had infiltrated to the deepest depths of their government there would at least be someone not under their control. Of course there were always exceptions.

This woman worked alone. No assistants helped her aside from her AIs and machines and the advanced robot aids of this era. Not because she was hated, no. Even if people _did_ hate her they could still work alongside her ignoring it. Anyway, she had her admirers too. Sure she was annoying and insulted people and was an overall horrible person who wasn't in prison only because she hadn't been caught for her crimes yet (everyone suspected her to be planted by some villain or another), but she was also pretty. Her red curls bounced with her steps, also against the dress code, and that attracted people. So did her features. Small and cute and so very expressive.

He didn't see her appeal, her personality ensured that, but others did. The real reason nobody worked with her was because of her fits. Though she had been examined, and had weekly check ups, they hadn't been able to tell why she had them. Nor could they estimate when she would. It was too dangerous for both her and her colleagues to work together, so they didn't.

She went to the corpse, about to touch her face. He didn't know whether it was to examine her, or simply because she was breaking another rule (she could just be doing it because she thought the girl was pretty, it wouldn't be the first time) but-

“Aris. Gloves. Wear them.”

Aris paused, listening to the head com she was wearing. She giggled, “Sorry~ I'll wear them now.”

He sighed knowing that she wasn't the least bit apologetic. As she pulled a pair on, he closed his eyes for a moment. Aris couldn't do anything she wasn't supposed to in that short a time, and he was right. She couldn't.

With her back to the body she didn't notice the pale fingers of the body twitch, and so she, like the man, certainly couldn't have expected the ensuing explosion.

Not when it was silent.

Both of them were thrown to the walls like ragdolls, heads hit hard. The shards of glass piercing into the man's body pained him, but not as much as the sound of the shattering glass had, or the fearful crack of Aris' head that had rung out so loud, so clear, that for the moments before he managed to stand and seen her on the floor of the lab, easy even despite everything being everywhere now, he had thought there had been a gunshot.

Not that the rectification relieved him. She was bleeding profusely, and though he too was injured, it wasn't severe. Her on the other hand... he feared her dead, or near it.

Though he wanted to run down to check on her, he couldn't, not with the girl standing down there.

She looked up at him (and though he couldn't make out the colour of her eyes, he knew they were cold. so very cold to the point that her freezing stare terrified him even though she wasn't glaring), but it felt more as if she was staring through him. As his vision went down to her chest, realisation led to silent horror. The hole was still there. Her heart still missing.

Almost as if trailing after his sight, she raised her hand to the wound, letting it be stained with blood. It seemed that the sensation wasn't what she expected because she looked down but, instead of showing terror, she wrinkled her nose in annoyance. Then she ignored it.

The nonchalance to what should be a life threatening wound, how she seemed to have raised from the dead, the pale deathly visage she held, all of it only confirmed his suspicions. This girl (no, not girl, woman. despite her appearance she was much older than one could fathom. or at the very least, she was several good decades older than his and Aris' years combined. and yet she was human) was not a mere soldier of a dark lord, but one of the Generals of the Empress of the Dark Empire. The public simply referred to her as the Dark Empress (it was annoying how their way of identifying villains was to just tack on ‘dark’ to the beginning of everything. there were times that he felt as if it wasn't even an actual word because of how often it was uttered).

This Empress was among the worst of villains, and so, the fact that this was a General of hers elicit a fear in him that burrowed into his bones. The Grim Reaper. A position held by a certain line. For some reason, they would not die. Would not be pained. Would not _feel_.

And she was here.

The ~~girl~~ woman made her way up slowly, with a calm that contrasted his panic. Even as she walked nearer, and nearer, the shards of glass on the floor piercing her bare feet, leaving trails of blood in her wake, he didn't move. All he could do was curse internally at the men who had brought her here.

They had said it was a simple field operation where the military had had a skirmish at the border and only managed to get their hands on the enemy's dead. That they thought she had been enhanced and wanted to examine the Empire's techniques. That nothing would happen. Well they were _wrong_ (he knew it wasn't any fault of theirs. that a General was of much higher ranking than any they could deal with. and he knew she had probably been planning this from the very beginning to trick them. it didn't stop his bitterness).

When they were face-to-face (not really because she was a shorter than him. though that shouldn't matter much when he’s about to die so he didn't know why he thought that) she tilted her head to stare at him. With the dread coiling around his neck, almost choking him as if to kill him to, he awaited his demise. And yet she just continued to stare at him.

This was actually more terrifying than her killing him straight away. Now he knew that she had brown eyes (the normal dark brown that so many had. it wasn't special. even thought the rest of her was strange with the pale skin and hair) and that she was tall, but short enough that his neck was starting to ache from looking down.

As the fear on his face shifted to discomfort, she stared. The woman didn't even blink. There was absolutely no movement, heat, anything, that could indicate she was alive, definitely not, he thought wryly, a heartbeat. If he hadn't witnessed everything he would have brushed her off as a statue.

She continued to stare. Now his feet were starting to hurt and he shifted. Was Aris okay? The Grim Reaper hadn't reacted to his movement so maybe he could go check on her?

Of course he couldn't. That was just wishful thinking.

Smiling, expression awkward, so very unnatural, he asked, “Could you stop? Usually people only stare this much when they want a date.”

The woman tilted her head, still staring at him, and he started to wonder why he said that. All he'd meant to do was ask her to stop and maybe leave if she wasn't going to kill him (he really shouldn't have followed protocol and removed anything of use before entering. it's not like Aris did. then again, even if she did she still had weapons at the ready) but now she most definitely would.

Again he waited, and waited, and waited, until finally the woman gave a nod. “Yes. I'll take you on a date. Make sure you're free on... always.”

And then she left.

He was stuck, watching her leave through the door as if nothing had happened. A date? He wasn't _paid_ to have relationships. Especially not with the enemy. Ah wait, no. Yes he was. That was part of espionage.

How exactly did he get another task while overseeing an existing one. And how did he get it instead of dying? The Grim Reaper... was probably playing with him but he would need to report this.

First though, he rushed down. The area was a _mess_. Still he could make his way through easy enough and kneeled, checking on his colleague's injuries. Despite how she looked, she wasn't that bad off, and her bleeding had already stopped. She would live, even if she did need to be treated. Carrying Aris, he stood.

“Aw Yuri... you're so lucky,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering open. She stared up at him through blurred eyes, as if she couldn't see properly. She probably couldn't.

“Lucky?” He didn't stop moving to converse, continuing to the nearest infirmary. Hopefully it hadn't been destroyed, though everything did seem to be fine. Everyone was just.. _missing_ for some strange reason. He dreaded to think of what had happened to them.

“A cute lady asked you out. I'm kinda jealous you know.”

Sighing, Yuri pushed open a door. “Said lady probably is planning to get my guard down and gain information from me without torture. It's not a good thing.”

“Mmm,” Aris just hummed, before giggling, “’kay!”

She still didn't understand why Yuri was so against the idea, the lady had been as cute as a doll! But if he didn't like her that was fine, maybe she could set one of her babies up with her! If she was only interested in men anyway, if the lady was interested in women too...

Aris giggled more.


	4. Edis I

“Edian, you know I'm married.”

Staring up at the blonde woman, Roctis sighed and put down his book. All he had wanted to do was read in peace while his wife was (luckily) away for a while. In fact he had been looking forward to it the entire day.

After the normal activities and work, at night he had had dinner with Ignes, bottle feeding her, and read her some fairy tales before putting her to bed. She wasn't fussy and wouldn't wake, though he did look in on her every half an hour. Then he had checked the entire house again, ensuring all the windows were closed, that all the latches were shut, and everything was locked. A quick look through a window before he closed the curtains had confirmed that, yes, it was still snowing heavily. So he'd made tea and sat in his armchair in the living room where the fire crackled, warming it. Dark, and only the light from the flames of the fireplace, along with the candelabra by his side table, allowed him to have picked his book up.

“That...” her voice was soft. Sweet. The type that he wouldn't mind listening to for days, and the type meant to sing lullabies for a child unable to sleep. “It doesn't fucking count and you know that.”

He sighed. “I’d think that it's the one thing that counts most.”

“Stop twisting the meaning of my words to suit you.” She placed one of her rapiers to his neck, the blade cool against his skin. He hadn't even noticed her unsheathing, but then, he had never been as skilled in these matters as the other Generals.

“What do you mean by this then?” Even if he hadn't anticipated her being so upset, it didn't scare him. She wouldn't kill him, she couldn't. That's why she had come here after all. She wouldn't understand his question either, that he was referring to her blade at his neck and not what her words had meant, but that was fine too.

“She blackmailed you into marriage, and you _know_ as well as the rest of us that _she goes and_ -"

Roctis cut off her words as they increased in heat, he didn't want to hear them. “Like how you are threatening me now?”

There was a tiny inhale at his words, so quiet, yet so sharp, and he felt guilt at the way the pain marred her face as she stumbled back, rapier withdrawing. He shouldn't, not when he was only speaking the truth, but when had situations like this ever been rational? It hurt his heart more when she sheathed her sword with too loud a clack, the sound painful in the silence where only the flames crackled.

“I'm sorry, that, that was my fault.”

“You don't need to apologise.”

“Don't I?” Edian shook her head, her hair veiling her face. He knows it also veiled her disappointment in him. “Even when I'm going to say all the things you pretend not to notice?”

His hands tightened around the plush fabric of the armchair. “You won't.”

“Wouldn't I?”

“No,” Roctis said, so much conviction in it that he almost believed it.

“I wouldn't say that your wife goes out behind your back to spend time with other men? Or is it the fact that she cheats on you that I'd keep quiet about?”

He simply stared at her. He couldn't bring himself to speak, even though he had known this. Always he had ignored it, after all what else was he to do? He was trapped in this marriage and couldn't leave, so there was no use in hurting himself by thinking about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally said.

The disappointment on Edian's face only grew. It hurt, so instead of looking at her, he looked past her at the clock mounted on the wall. It was beautiful, carved of a dark wood; a present from Urokai. Though, he'd had a strange look on his face when he'd given it to him at the wedding, and left immediately to cling to his own husband.

“Even when she's out right now in another man's bed?”

Roctis looked back at her from the ornate hand of the clock that ticked every second.

“What do you want me to do of that?” It didn't come out as calm as he'd thought it would. Instead it was sharp, and loud. _Upset_.

“Get rid of her. I know you can't divorce her but, it won't matter if she's dead.”

The idea made his mind quake. Murder? Just because of an affair? He couldn't. To do something to someone he knew, it terrified him. Edian wouldn't take that as an excuse though. Not when she was a fellow General, and not when she could kill so easily with her own two hands in person. Her rapiers weren't for show the way his whip was.

“I cannot do that. She's Ignes' mother, and I can't take her away from her. She's just a child.”

Edian only snorted, and he knew she didn't accept this reason either.

“She doesn't love Ignes either, when was the last time she actually held her? Or talked to her?”

“I cannot just _kill_ her.” He wasn't answering her questions but that was because they both knew the answer. That she never had even when Ignes was born.

“Why not?” Edian's voice rose, enraged. “After everything she's done, you love her? Is that what's happening?”

He flinched as her hands went to the hilts of her rapiers, and she froze. What had she realized, he wondered, as she lowered them slowly. Not moving, even as she came up to him, even as she knelt on his chair and wrapped her arms around him, even as she cradled his cheek with a hand, he stared at her. He could actually see her face clearly now, lit up and flickering orange in the dim gloom. It was strange. Her eyes were teary, and filled with an affection he longed for. But it wasn't one he could have.

“Roctis,” she murmured, leaning in so her forehead was on his hair, and her eyes obscured from his vision. “You're the same soft-hearted fool you always were.”

Still unmoving, he merely listened to her.

“Do you remember all those years ago? Under that sycamore by the sea?”

Of course he remembered, it had been when-

_Sitting under the shade of the tree, Roctis watched Edian warily. She was a wild card, and even if they could be considered friends that didn't mean she wouldn't kill him at the drop of a hat. That's just how the Court was._

_“Is there a reason you came?”_

_There was a pink flush on her cheeks as she answered, but then, it was a cold day and she wasn't wearing a coat or scarf like he was, “I wanted to ask you something.”_

_“What is it?” That only made him more wary._

_She sat down by his side, laying her rapiers down on the ground beside her. Hugging her knees, she rested her head on them, looking at him through her eyelashes. “About engagements. Like how Urokai's been engaged to Zarga since he was a child. Is that common?”_

_Roctis frowned. “Didn’t your father teach you?”_

_“He doesn't talk much, and he didn't know when I asked.”_

_That made enough sense. Even when Gan Jiang Drosia had been a General he had been reclusive to the point most people didn't know what he looked like. “It was more common in the past. It is not considered an unbreakable bond anymore either. They can be broken off.”_

_“Are you engaged?”_

_Why was she asking that? Mere curiosity? Well, it wasn't information that would harm him so it was fine if she knew. “No.”_

_“Is it fine if I propose to you then?”_

_Staring at her, Roctis wondered if he had misheard. “Excuse me?”_

_“I want to marry you-” Edian sat up straight, cheeks getting redder- “because I love you.”_

_That was flattering but- “I barely know you.”_

_“Then...” She bit her lip, thinking. “That's not a no right? So if you knew me would you give me a yes then?”_

_“Perhaps.” Only if she wouldn't kill him, and if he felt anything for her._

_Edian smiled (a small sweet thing he'd seen before when she talked to Rayga as he dragged Gradeus back to the Court for the nth time. or when she would speak with her late wife Yayota. or even when she was with Urokai or the Lord's husband) and looked up at the tree. She took a deep breath and wrinkled her nose, probably because the salt of the sea or sting of the cold went too deep, maybe even to her throat and lungs._

_“One day then. I will ask you in the future, please give me an answer then.”_

_He returned to watching the sea, pale blue bursting to white as it crashed against the sand. “One day-"_

“You never asked.”

“I never got the chance,” she murmured, her breath hot on his forehead and brows, “I was going to but, then you were engaged. How could I ask?”

He didn't reply, wondering when she would get off of him. It must be uncomfortable to kneel for so long.

“What would you have said?” A timid whisper, filled with fear and anxiety. Roctis shifted, worried at her show of vulnerability. It wasn't like her, and unbecoming of a General, especially one renowned like her. She was known to be stoic.

“I would have agreed.” Of course he would have, she was a merciful woman, and wonderful. So very wonderful.

“Shit.” Edian drew back to look at him. Her eyes were welling up with tears and she was trembling. “ _Oh, shit_. Then-" she leaned in, so close that the soft brown of her eyes were clear even through her lashes- “what about now?”

His eyes widened and he grabbed her hand on his cheek before she could kiss him. “Edian! I’m _married_.”

“She doesn't care-" Edian leaned in so close that his action didn't matter- “so why should you?”

He could stop her, he definitely could stop her, but he didn't and her lips were against his. His arms around her and then instead of kneeling she was in his lap, her fingers threading through his hair.

It was all wrong, but nobody knew. In the morning when he woke, she was gone, and nobody knew. When he welcomed his wife home with a smile, she didn't know.

He held Ignes, remembering blonde hair and a sharp smile. A promise and the glint of blades. It was fine, nobody knew, so Roctis smiled.


End file.
